April 14, 2010

Big Bag 'O Dirt

You know what kind of morning it is? I hesitated over whether or not to capitalize the 'O' in that title. Sigh.

I need to call for one of those big bags of dirt you see plopped on people's driveways. It may seem crazy or suburban to buy dirt, but I have a lot of planters and it you put new plants in old dirt, it's like having a shower and then putting your grungy clothes back on. Oh, stop frowning. You've done it. When you unexpectedly stayed over somewhere, back in your wild days, or when your luggage was lost. It's nasty, even if it's your dirt. And if you have to comb your hair with your fingers, it just gets worse.

Anyway. Dirt. I learned it's cheaper to have one of those bombs delivered, instead of trying to truck home a hundred little bags. Our grass is looking scraggly as all get out, again, so we're going to have to do something to shore that up to. Just so you know, after I put grass seed down, I'll be praying for rain when you are all begging for sun. We'll see who is more loved.

I have been sick. Big sick. After 3 months of burning myself out on writing and working on that civic committee, last week I woke up with my throat seized shut and a fever that made me think I was having my first hot flash. A hot flash that lasted 12 hours. Because my body believes in pain buddies, it sent in a migraine on Day Two, to hold hands with the strep. I rarely get sick; I never get sick enough to go to bed. I was flat out for three days. If I was living in Little House on the Prairie times, I was so sick they would have called for the minister instead of the doctor.

I could hear the fear in the boys' voices. "Do you think she's going to be okay?" one would ask, nervously. "Yes, I'm sure, don't worry," came the reply. "Do you think she's going to be okay by dinner?"

So in spite of the brilliant sunshine and the soaring temperatures, I've been all manner of crankypants. I had to go to IKEA yesterday, which caused a friend to suck in her breath in fear. "Do you have a plan?" she asked. I assured her I did, it was a strict in -and- out mission. "You know you're just gonna end up standing in line for an hour and a half holding a package of serviettes. You know that, right?" She was close.

I had to buy a new printer. I loathe buying new printers. We stood in Staples, believing the sale signs which we know are really bogus. I thought I'd be scooping up a fifty buck printer. Maybe a no-name extra ink cartridge. I try not to print much. I'm cheap. My Dad would be proud. Instead, I stood gazing adoringly at a printer, real price 170, on sale for 99, that apparently will print, fold, mutilate and do my ironing. And because printers only come with enough ink in them to get you excited but never enough to finish the job - Foreplay Cartridges - I had to fork over another 45 bucks for a cartridge - 'sorry, no store brand available for this printer' - I will no doubt put in upside down or with the little tab still attached and cuss when it doesn't work. I hate printers.

I hate TV shows where people I rarely, barely or never have heard of prance around and look like arses. Rosie DiManno, a fellow scribe at the Star, took a piece out of a little bimbarino who is prancing. Erin Andrews is a sports reporter who was viley filmed by a peeping tom while she was in hotel rooms. Terrifying and horrendous. She is now duking it out with death threats and stalkers, all because she is a young, attractive woman. I don't know if she's any good as a reporter; until the peeping thing I'd never heard of her. But now she's shaking her booty on that Dancing Show. And Rosie has called her out as having questionable judgment. And I agree with Rosie.

Various other outlets in the States have predictably called out Rosie for speaking the truth. Called her jealous and ugly. How do you get from here to there? This woman has suffered through a horrible experience she in no way deserved, yet her answer is to fling her barely clad body around a ballroom dance floor on TV to prove she is still.....a sports reporter? Get dressed, do your job, and quit playing pretend in an effort to prove you're real.

I don't watch that show. But my sister has taken to sending me links the next day because that Kate Gosselin woman is also 'dancing'. She of the billion children and little eunuchy husband who may or may not have a penis as big as my thumb, depending on who you believe. Anyway. This woman can barely walk, let alone dance. Her partner drags her around and the only thing it reminds me of is when I haul the dead Christmas tree to the curb every January. And her expression? Death. Mean death. I'm wildly awaiting Kate doing the Bitey Rumba.

While I was sick, the Poor Sod went for groceries. I was too sick to even make a list, but he shops with me a lot, so how tough can it be? This is what he brought home: milk; 4 jugs of orange juice; fish sticks (which we don't buy); 2 bags of cookies (which we also don't buy - he said that would explain why we were low on them); 2 packages of poppyseed bagels, which nobody likes; 3 packages of pastrami, because nitrites are our friend; bananas; hummus; more lettuce, because we only had 2; 4 boxes of soup for the long cold summer ahead; all these weird crackers that I won't buy. Yep. We're good for another week.

I'll be on CH later today. I better go practice smiling.

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

I never watch Dancing with the Stars, I'm not a fan of dancing and the 'stars' are less than stellar. BUT I actually turned it on this week to see the train wreck that is Kate Gosselin. I can't believe that anyone has so little rhythm. Her poor partner might as well be dancing with a tree, and you are so right about the expression. I think she is concentrating so hard on the steps she can't possibly smile or enjoy herself in the least. All I know for sure is that I won't watch it again. Between Kate and the ick that is Pamela Anderson I think I'd rather go clean something.3
Glad to hear you're feeling better!

April 14, 2010 12:54 PM  
Blogger Chris Brown (not the felon) said...

Boy you really are Little Miss Crabby Pants. First the Sod goes shopping then he gets reamed for buying stuff you never buy and then he gets reamed for buying stuff you always buy, but have too much of.

If you're truly cheap... I am in a league of my own when it comes to cheapaucity... you would buy a Laser printer. The toner cartridge it comes with (which is in and of itself, cheapness incarnate) will last about 200,000 pages. After that you throw it away and buy a new one. The tree huggers will be knocking on your front door with (steel) ram rods, but your Dad will be proud.

Don't EVER watch the dancing show. It was invented by people who own laser eye-fixing businesses. It will burn out your retinas.

April 15, 2010 10:21 AM  
Blogger Chris Brown (not the felon) said...

Oh Em Gee... I can't believe I forgot to say "Get well soon!!"

Some days I'm so thoughtless I hate myself. If I didn't love myself so much, that is.

April 15, 2010 11:24 AM  
Anonymous buzzwhack said...

Watching Kate dance is gloom by the bucket. I'd have to burn my eyes out with red hot pokers to feel clean again. Poor sod may have a secret monkey on his back..4 jugs of OJ, 2 bags of cookies,poppyseed bagels? sugar, sugar, drugs (poppies) all that's missing are the Doritos and a copy of HIGH TIMES. Maybe he just bought what was on sale? On the plus side, tax season is almost over.

April 15, 2010 1:28 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yes, Rosie was right and you are too as you dance your way to the curb!!

April 16, 2010 6:29 AM  
Blogger OmemeeOzzie said...

Belated sorry to hear you were feeling 'proper poorly'...

Hope you're back to your usual self.

April 17, 2010 8:46 AM  
Blogger Nursedude said...

Get better soon. Althought the sick Lorraine is as entertaining a read as the healthy one I do know more than I'd like to about the cold from hell.

Chris was right on in his advice for a printer. Unless you need colour get a laser. Way more economical.

BTW: Chris, you're not cheap. You're frugal. My wife's sister in law can wax poetic about the differences.

April 19, 2010 8:00 AM  
Blogger Unknown said...

;) At least the Poor Sod remembered your hummus article.

April 20, 2010 12:20 PM  

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